It was cold. James mused as he sat on a barrel, listening to his siblings argue about what to do. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. He ran a whetstone down his sword, keeping it sharp as he listened to their argument. He did look up briefly, seeing snow floating down lazily into Winterfell’s courtyard.

What a journey it had been: from the naïve youth then to the seasoned warrior, and finally to the talented politician. He reflected that he didn’t know which was worse, combat or politics. At least in combat he knew where his enemy was. Sansa, Jon and Davos stood watching the youngsters train archery and swordplay.

Sansa turned to Jon and asked, “Do you think it’s really Tyrion? It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap.”

They had just received a raven from Tyrion Lannister, claiming to be Hand of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, and requesting a meeting with the King in the North.

Jon nodded and responded, “Read the last bit.”

“‘All dwarfs are bastards in their father’s eyes.’ What does that mean?”

“Dwarfs are deformed and not considered true heirs in the eyes of their fathers,” James said as he slid the whetstone down. “Something Tywin remarked on when I was in King’s Landing posing as his cup boy.”

She nodded. “I remember you there, James, but I couldn’t do or say anything.”

“I know,” he nodded in reply, “If I had known about Bolton.”

She smiled sadly, “It’s okay. There was nothing you could do.”

Jon sighed and leaned against the railings. “We can grieve the past later, but at the moment we’ve got decisions to make. While James is right - Tywin did see Tyrion as a bastard like me - it was also something that Tyrion said to me in private the first night we met.”

“Makes sense he’d say that,” James responded.

“Aye,” Jon agreed. He turned to Sansa, “You know him better than any of us. What do you think?”

“Tyrion is not like the other Lannisters. He was always kind to me, but it’s too great a risk. “The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us. Together we can end her tyranny.”

“Sounds like a charmer.” Davos added his opinion, “Of course, the casual mention of a Dothraki horde, a legion of Unsullied and three dragons, makes it a bit less charming.”

“It’s a strategic ploy,” James said. “He’s telling us what they’ve got and what Cersei has. Truth be told, we will have a better chance of survival against the White Walkers and their whites, if we have three dragons at our back and I doubt Cersei will be interested in helping us.”

“No,” Sansa smiled thinly. “She hates us. To her we’re everything she despises; she basically told me as much when we were holed up in the fight against Stannis.”

“Idiot,” James said. They turned to him, James shrugged. “No siege weapons and wooden ships against wild fire? He would’ve been better off cutting their supply lines and starving them out, or sending in spies and terrorizing the populace.”

Davos nodded, “He was blinded like a religious zealot.”

“He drank the juice and got sucked in, not to mention he got to fuck that hot wet...” James saw Sansa narrow her eyes, coughed and studiously continued scraping his sword.

“We’re going to need help,” Davos said finally. “We’re going to need those dragons, especially against the whites. Fire kills them, dragon’s breath fire is a no-brainer.”

“Aye,” Jon nodded.

Sansa mused, “You’re not actually asking Jon to see her?”

“What choice do we have?” Jon finished.

The Lords were even less impressed, Sansa sat on Jon’s right while James sat to his left, pondering as the Lords all squabbled. He imagined this was what it was like until Aegon had made them all obey him and forged the Seven Kingdoms into one unified Kingdom under his rule.

Dragons changed the game and James couldn’t help but think it would change the game for them as well.

He sighed.

“I received this a few days ago from Dragonstone. It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister. He’s now Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen. She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister. She has a powerful army at her back and if this message is to be believed, three dragons. Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys and I’m going to accept. We need this Dragonglass, My Lords. We know that Dragonglass can destroy both White Walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons.

The Lords nodded in agreement.

“But more importantly, we need allies. The Night King’s army grows larger by the day. We can’t defeat them on our own. We don’t have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragon fire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us. Ser Davos and I will ride for White Harbor tomorrow, then sail for Dragonstone.”

“Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?” Sansa asked angrily, “The Mad King invited him to King’s Landing and roasted him alive.”

“I know that.”

“She is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The north is one of those seven kingdoms. This isn’t an invitation, it’s a trap.”

“It could be, but I don’t believe Tyrion would do that. You know him. He’s a good man.”

Yohn Royce shouted, “Your Grace, with respect I must agree with Lady Sansa. I remember the Mad King all too well. A Targaryen cannot be trusted, nor can a Lannister.”

The lords shouted in agreement.

“We called your brother king, and then he rode south and lost his kingdom.”

James nodded, that was true.

Little Lyanna Mormont barked out, “Winter is here, Your Grace. We need the King in the North in the north.”

For the longest time James had remained silent, he had stayed mute on the subject as he kept his hands tented, head lowered in contemplation.

What was it Baelish had said to him.

‘Fight every battle, everywhere, always, in your mind. Everyone is your enemy, everyone is your friend. Every possible series of events is happening all at once. Live that way and nothing will surprise you.’

“Sansa is right.”

The room went quiet and Jon turned to James, slightly annoyed at being contradicted in front of everyone by both siblings.

“James, you were meant to support me in this.”

James turned to Jon, for the first time and genuinely looked tired, “Jon you’re King of the North, you lead here. People listen to and trust your judgement and so far I couldn’t find fault with it, until now, you’re letting your heart lead and not listening to your head.”

“What would you suggest then?”

He ran his hand through his hair, “I go.”

“James,” Sansa flushed. “I can’t allow that, you’re my brother.”

James smiled and inclined his head, “It’s the best course of action. I’m Lord of Winterfell and warden of the North, I go as your emissary. If you go and she roasts you like last week’s pork, she effectively cuts off the head of any resistance in the North, if I go, it’s just one more dead Stark.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him your grace,” Davos said after a moment.

James inclined his head, “Thank you, Ser Davos.”

“Aye.”

The discussion in private was heated, Sansa glaring and Jon shouting, but James sat back on the chair in a relaxed posture with a half-smile on his face, Sansa couldn’t help but think, how James resembled their father.

“It’s the right thing to do, Jon,” James said when his brother had calmed down and slumped into his chair.

“I know,” the king nodded. “I just don’t like the idea of potentially sending someone to their death.”

“You’re King,” James grinned, showing his warped sense of humour. “Get used to it, you’ll have to do this shit all the time.”

“Fuck you, James,” Jon chuckled.

“I’d rather fuck Daenerys,” James admitted with a lewd smile, Sansa raised a pretty red eyebrow, her eyes showing enlightenment.

“That’s what this is about?”

“What?”

“This isn’t a suicide mission, this is to see if you can get some royal pussy,” Sansa responded to his question.

James shrugged, “Well, I can’t have yours, can I?”

She mused, looking him up and down for a moment, not saying no but not saying yes either. She turned to the window and looked out.

James and Jon exchanged surprised looks.

“Be safe, James, and try not to get killed,” she acquiesced.

“I guess the matter is settled then,” Jon said.

“Yup,” James nodded.

They got a boat set up, some soldiers were designated as an honor guard. The night before leaving, James had a nervous sleep, tossing and turning.

The next morning they ate at the family table, quietly contemplating the winter that was coming. Suddenly, James chuckled.

“What?”

“Winter is coming...”

Sansa frowned, “Yes?”

“Dad was never wrong.”

She smiled, “No.”

“Wish he was here,” he said sadly. “I miss him.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

They stood at the gangplank, snowflakes drifting down, James stood between Sansa and Jon as he stared up at the boat.

“I can’t help but be nervous.”

Jon nodded, “Me too, not just because this could damage any alliance we might have with her.”

“Not worried about your brother’s safety?”

“No,” Jon grinned at James’ off look. “Besides I know that if she does try and take you out, you’ll go down taking as many of them with you as you can.”

“Absolutely.”

“Outstanding,” Jon nodded.

James turned to Sansa, she didn’t look at him, instead, her gaze was distant and inscrutable.

“Hurry back, James.” With that, she turned and left.

James nodded at Jon, made his way up and onto the boat, and soon the sails were rippling overhead as they were on their way.

It took a while to get there. When they reached their destination, the ship entered the cove and James took a moment to observe the large intimidating structure of Dragonstone. It was a piece of work, all right - forged by dragon fire many centuries ago. The anchor lowered and James got into the small rowboat with Davos and a handful of soldiers.

They pulled up to the beach, where James stood up and worked the kinks out of his muscles. He looked over at Davos, who smiled back, acknowledging the true beginning of the adventure. They jumped into the water and helped pull the boats up to the beach. As they finished beaching the boats, looked further up the dunes and saw a group of Dothraki, along with Tyrion Lannister, of all people. Next to the dwarf was the Queen’s Translator.

As he approached, he saw that the translator was young, no older than he. She stood out amongst the white men, with darker, dusky skin and black hair poofed out around her face. He noted that she wore pants under her dress skirt, an odd combination if ever there were one.

They walked up and James bowed slightly to the dwarf.

“Lord Tyrion.”

“Lord James.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

“Yes,” the small man nodded.

“The last time we met...” James said wistfully, as though remembering the good old days and that made Tyrion smile.

“I was pissing off the edge of the world,” Tyrion smiled more broadly.

James noticed a crude diagonal scar crossing the dwarf’s face from forehead to his beard-covered cheek. “Picked up some scars along the way?”

“You, too,” Tyrion pointed at James’ face and inclined his head. Tyrion eyed James’ own scars and Stark armor. “It’s been a long road. But we’re both still here.”

James nodded in turn, somewhat solemnly. Tyrion shifted his focus to Davos behind him, saying, “I’m Tyrion Lannister.”

“Ser Davos Seaworth.”

As Tyrion and Davos shook hands, the dwarf commented blithely, “Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay.”

“Unluckily for me.”

James cast an inquisitive glance at the woman standing to the right, behind Tyrion. Tyrion said by way of introducing her, “Missandei is the Queen’s most trusted adviser.”

“And you’re not?” James could not help but tweak.

Tyrion, nonplussed, amended his response to, “One of the Queen’s most trusted advisors.”

Missandei smiled as she inclined her head in acknowledgment, and then walked over. She turned on her official, all-business voice and said, “Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey and appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn’t mind handing over your weapons, we can proceed.”

James looked at Davos and his men and then back at the translator.

“What assurances do we have?”

“I’m sorry?”

James spoke carefully, not wanting to cause offense. “The last time members of my family sat with a Targaryen, they were burned alive. So, forgive me, my lady, but I need some assurances that we will not be harmed.”

“You will have mine,” they turned as Tyrion spoke.

“Yours?”

“Yes.”

“With all due respect, my lord, but what good is your word for us?”

“I was her sworn enemy,” he smiled. “Instead of burning me alive with her dragons, she took me in and listened to my advice. Now I am Hand of the Queen and she is one step closer to being Queen of the seven Kingdoms. If you can trust anyone, young Stark, you can trust me.”

James nodded brusquely, undid his sword, and handed it over. Davos handed his sword over and the men who rowed them over stood aside while the boat was taken away.

“Please, come this way.”

Davos started walking in step with Missandei and Tyrion. James purposely followed a few steps behind.

“Where are you from? I can’t place the accent.”

“I was born on the Island of Naarth.”

“Ah. I hear it is beautiful down there. Palm trees and butterflies. I haven’t been, myself.” Missandei nodded.

Davos slowed his pace to talk with James. “This place has changed.” James glanced briefly at Davos, but felt no need to reply.

They were taken to the castle by the long route. James was a bit pensive at the apparent delay, but went along quietly. Tyrion curbed his gait to fall in stride with James. His opening gambit was, “So I hear Lady Sansa is doing well?”

“Yes.”

“Does she miss me terribly?”

James blinked and looked at Tyrion, who smiled and grinned. “A sham marriage and unconsummated.”

James shook his head in amusement. “Well, then I’m sure she does,” he quipped.

“It was a sham. I promise.” James shrugged his shoulders. It really wasn’t his business and Sansa had never mentioned it, regardless. “Anyway she’s much smarter than she lets on.”

“She’s starting to let on, believe me” James retorted with a smile.

“So ... Jon is King in the North?”

“Yes,” James nodded.

“Why didn’t you take it?”

“There were many who wanted me to,” James admitted. He shrugged then had his own query for the dwarf “What about you? Hand of the Queen is no small task.”

“A long and bloody tale. To be honest, I was drunk for most of it.”

James smiled at the witticism.

His follow-up was suspended by an ear-splitting shriek from the heavens. It had James and Ser Davos diving to the ground. James rolled and looked upward as he steadied himself. The Dothraki studied James as his hidden blade had appeared. They stared at the dragon as it sailed overhead in imposing fashion. Its considerably broad figure casting a similarly far-reaching (yet fleeting) shadow upon the island as it flew swiftly out of sight.

“Fuck,” James muttered. “You hear about them but words don’t really put it into context.”

Tyrion held out a hand, James disengaged the hidden blade, then he took proffered appendage and the dwarf helped him to his feet. “I’d say you get used to them, but you never really do.”

“Scared me half to death.”

Tyrion chuckled, and then pointed at the blade. “What is that device?”

“A hidden blade.” James turned to the Dothraki, who bristled. “You didn’t think I’d make it that easy, did you? Don’t worry. I actually have no intentions of stabbing anyone - not with that fucker flying around.”

Tyrion smiled and nodded “Come on, let’s get inside and you can meet their mother.”

“She gave birth to those?”

“In a manner of speaking” Tyrion countered.

“That’s one hell of a woman.”

Tyrion nodded in agreement.

James forced his gait to remain steady as he entered the throne room beside Ser Davos in the wake of Tyrion and Missandei. As he caught sight of Queen Daenerys herself, seated primly atop her throne, he could see her wide and alluring sea-blue eyes observing their approach with cool appraisal. She had angular features and a pert prettily sloped nose and full pink lips that formed an elegant pout. Her skin was milky-pale and smooth, atop her head, her hair was white as snow and curled scrupulously into bounteous waves that tumbled gracefully down her back.

Tyrion and Missandei took their places on either side of the Queen. Their expressions turned solemn and respectful. James studied the Queen as she studied him. Before he could open his mouth, the translator spoke first.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt and the Breaker of Chains.”

“Your Grace,” he bowed his head gracefully.

“You are not Jon Snow.”

“No, your Grace.”

“I was expecting the King of the North.”